


Slam

by SeafoamSoul



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 01:26:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17033748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeafoamSoul/pseuds/SeafoamSoul
Summary: Braun gets dragged along to a local club on Slam Poetry night. And ends up falling in love with your words.





	Slam

I hated having stage fright. I hated having stage fright and an intense need to perform my pieces for people at open mic nights. But god, I loved performing. I loved reading my pieces for strangers, people I will never see again, and sharing a piece of my soul with them. It was important to me, even if I did feel like I was gonna throw up right before I hit the mic.

And my piece tonight was one of the most important ones to me. It was about loneliness, something so terribly cliche, something it feels like every poet has ever written about. But this poem meant a lot to me. Based off the feeling I got when my mom died when I was 16, leaving me with a dad that was too busy to even notice me most of the time, meaning I was practically on my own ever since. And then my dad died when I was off at college, far away from home, and though I didn’t really have a good relationship with him, it still hit me hard. And now I’m miles away from home, from where I went to college, and I’m trying to make it in the middle of Florida. Add in the fact my most recent boyfriend and I broke up due to his cheating, and I had a lot of feelings about loneliness I needed to get out. And poetry was my way to do that.

Did I hate that my most meaningful piece was also the one that looked the most cliche from the outside looking in? Of course I did, everyone wants to be individual and have individual ideas. But this poem was what made me able to stop thinking so much about how lonely I truly was, how lonely I’ve been since I was 16. I had to write it. And I couldn’t wait to share it, get the ideas out into the air to truly rid myself of them. I could share my story with strangers, give them a piece of me to carry with them, and I’d have more room inside myself for more stories, more poems. It was therapeutic.

As I readied myself to begin reading my piece, a group of about five people walked into the building. It seemed as if they were lost, if their appearances were anything to go by. Two giant men, and three obviously athletic women walked in, talking amongst themselves as they found a table to sit at. None of them seemed to be too terribly interested in what was happening around them, and I shrugged it off. Taking a deep breath, I launched into my piece, feeling the nerves and jitters pass as time went on, as I became more comfortable on the stage in the front of the room.

About halfway through my recitation, I scanned the audience and saw that the tallest, most muscular man from the group that came in late was actually paying attention to my words. His friends were all mumbling amongst themselves, obviously enthralled in their own conversation. But this man was looking straight at me, seemingly soaking in my words. Our eyes met and I felt goosebumps on my arms, felt the hair rise on the back of my neck. It was strange, and I looked away quickly, continuing my scan of the audience.

When I glanced back his way, right before finishing my poem, he was still staring at me, still paying close attention to my words. I had never felt this way about someone actively listening to my pieces before. Sure, I felt close to the strangers all packed in the room with me, but I’d never felt this close to one of them. It was kinda weirding me out, to feel like this. So I shook it off, pretending it never happened, and finished my piece.

The man in question started clapping while everyone else snapped. His hands quickly halted, his face flushing a deep red before he snapped once or twice as I walked off the stage. Just like I thought. He and his friends obviously weren’t prepared for what was happening here tonight. And it’s just my luck that I felt so drawn to one of the strange men who had no clue how to handle a poetry slam.

The man’s eyes followed me to my table. Our gazes kept meeting across the room as the next person stepped up to the mic. It was weird, he was obviously ignoring his friends as they spoke amongst themselves, ignoring the person on stage. To look at me. Halfway through the next person’s poem, he stood up from his table. His friends shot him bewildered looks as he crossed the room, stopping next to my table.

“Hey, I’m Braun,” he said, holding out a hand. I took it in my own, giving it a quick shake before dropping it. “Can I sit here?”

“Go for it,” I replied, gesturing to the table.

“So, um, I liked your poem.” He was fidgeting where he sat, hands awkwardly falling to the table.

“Thank you.” This conversation was so awkward but there was just something about this man - Braun - that made me want to keep talking to him. What the hell was happening?

“It was really moving, you know,” Braun continued, voice picking up confidence as he spoke. “I think I understand where you’re coming from.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

We both leaned forward at the same time, obviously focusing all our energy into this conversation. Braun smiled for a second before explaining himself. “I mean, I don’t think we have the same experiences, of course. But I get the concept of loneliness. I had to leave all my friends and family behind at home so I could go out and be a wrestler. And now I’ve made it that far, but I’m traveling the world with people I don’t quite connect with all the way. So it’s a weird lonely game of limbo I feel like I’m playing.”

“You don’t ever see your family?” I don’t know when I decided to start playing 20 questions with him, but I was intrigued. I wanted to know about him. No one had ever come up to me after a reading to talk to me about my poem. I got the usual quiet snaps and then ignored, usually. Braun was the first person to want to talk about my poetry, the first person who told me it connected with them.

“Not really,” he shook his head, glancing around for a moment at the crowd around us. “Can we, uh, maybe go outside for this? I don’t wanna interrupt the others.”

“Oh, um. Sure,” I agreed, shrugging. I led him out of the crowd of people, weaving through tables to the door. On a glance back to make sure he was following me, I saw his friends shooting him puzzled looks, wondering where he was going. He didn’t seem to notice, eyes instead focused on where I was going.

When I led him outside to a table against the wall, he waited for us to get comfortable before continuing. “I only ever really get about a day or two off a week, and even then it’s even less depending on flights being delayed. And I moved down here, to Orlando, anyway. None of my family is here.”

“I know that feeling,” I said, picking at the table in front of me.

“What-” he began, not being able to finish before I cut him off.

“What brought you here tonight? You don’t really seem like the type to come to an open mic night. No offense.” I tacked the last part on quickly, hoping he wouldn’t think I was being rude. I was just genuinely curious.

“I was just dragged along,” he answered easily. “My friends wanted to come because it’s their favorite bar. But I guess they didn’t realize it was open mic night.”

“Yeah, they didn’t seem too interested in being here,” I laughed, flipping my hair over my shoulder.

Braun’s eyes met mine across the table as he readied himself to speak again. “Can I ask you a question about your poem?” When I nodded my consent, he continued. “What, uh. What inspired it?” He must’ve seen the semi-panicked look on my face, because he quickly backtracked. “You don’t have to tell me. I was just curious since I felt so connected to it. But you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s just….You’re the first person to ever ask about any of my pieces. So this is weird for me,” I admitted, propping my chin up on my hand. “I’ll give you the short version so I won’t bore you. My mom died when I was younger, leaving me with my dad. It was tense and weird all the time living with him, so I moved away for college. And then he died about halfway through. Once I finished college, I moved here. I didn’t want to go back home and I didn’t want to stay where I went to college. I’ve lived here for about two years now. And about a month and a half ago, I broke up with my cheating ex-boyfriend who I thought was the only person I had in my life. And apparently I was wrong. So that’s where I am,” I laughed humorlessly, eyes meeting Braun’s across the table.

“Makes mine seem less serious,” Braun muttered.

“I don’t think so. Everyone’s feelings have different meanings to them, different things that spur them on. Just because someone has a different reason behind their emotions doesn’t make yours any less valid,” I explained.

“Do you have any other poems I could read?” Braun seemed honestly interested in my work, and that meant a lot to me.

“They’re not with me, but I have a couple of chapbooks at my apartment,” I told him. “I mean, if you want them, you can definitely have them, but-”

“I’d love them,” he told me, nodding eagerly.

I smiled at his enthusiasm, at the smile on his own face. This was so strange to me, having someone curious about my work and my motivation for my poetry. And now, here I was, inviting Braun to my apartment for chapbooks, something I’ve never done before. There was something about him, something that drew me in. And I didn’t understand it.

“I live uh, just down the road,” I explained, pointing past his head. “If you wanna come grab them.”

“Lead the way.”

=========================

“You can make yourself at home,” I told Braun, gesturing to my living room. “I’ll just go find those chapbooks.”

I left him to it, taking a turn to head for my bedroom. Part of me was a little concerned about this. I mean, I don’t usually invite strangers to my home. And I never leave them unsupervised in my apartment. That tends to be a big no-no in my book. Yet, here I was, rummaging through the books in my shelf to find copies of all my chapbooks. When I found them, three of them in all, I turned, running right into a human wall. Looking up, I saw Braun standing there, watching me. “This is, uh, not my living room,” I told him, mentally berating myself for sounding so dumb.

“I know, I just - “ he trailed off, looking down at me. It was oddly silent for a moment before he finally leaned down, his lips crashing to mine.

I like to think that I’m a pretty reasonable person. At least, that’s what I thought for most of my life. Today, apparently, was dedicated to making me act completely out of character. I never had to explain a poem of mine before today. I never invite people to my apartment, never desperately search through my belongings to find chapbooks for them, and I never kiss said strangers that ended up in my bedroom instead of my living room where I left them. But with Braun, all that was out the window.

“Um,” was all I could say when Braun pulled away from me, one arm wrapped around my waist. His gaze was intense as his eyes met mine, studying my face for something. I tore my eyes away, looking down at the books in my hand. “The, um, books-”

The books in question tumbled from my hand onto the hardwood floor as I was lifted into the air. I grasped onto Braun’s shoulders as he moved me across the room, backing me up into the wall. He let out a growl, low in his throat, before his lips fell to mine again. The last kiss had been soft, gentle, even. This kiss was far from that. His lips pressed harshly against mine, his hands gripping my hips so tightly I was sure I would bruise. And I loved every second of it.

Braun’s mouth fell to my neck, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake. My head fell back against the wall while my hands tangled in his hair. When his fingers brushed against the underside of my bare breasts, he pulled back, ignoring my whine of protest.

“Do you-” he began.

“Yes,” I cut him off, vigorously nodding my head.

With a grin on his face, he slipped my shirt off over my head, eyes blazing, before moving us to the bed. When my back hit the comforter, I scrambled to take off my pants and underwear, watching while Braun removed his clothes as well. My eyes focused on his impressive length as he rolled a condom over himself before finally climbing onto the bed to join me.

The head of his cock rubbed against my entrance, teasing me. When I opened my mouth to beg him to stop teasing, he slid himself into me to the hilt. My eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, nails scratching at his biceps.

“You okay?” he asked, coming to a halt above me.

I couldn’t say anything, my only response a whimper as I rolled my hips against his. A chuckle erupted from his chest as he finally started moving. One arm propped himself up while the other dug into my hip, thrusting into me hard.

“Fuck,” I whined, nails digging in even deeper on his arms as he increased his pace. The headboard was banging against the wall rhythmically, and I was sure my neighbors would want to kill me by the time we were done.

But I didn’t care. All I cared about was the way Braun’s hips moved against mine just right, the feeling of his lips against the bare skin of my shoulder, leaving behind kisses and light nibbles. I only cared about the way I felt in that moment, free, different from how I usually felt. There was something about him that made me feel so strange, but a good strange.

Braun shifted his angle just slightly, thrusting even deeper into me, my cries muffled by his kiss. His hand moved from my hip to my breast, twisting a nipple between his fingers and I came, scratching down his back. Braun broke the kiss, hissing just slightly as my nails ran against his skin.

“Think you have one more for me?” he asked, never slowing his movements once.

“Yes,” I breathed, my hips moving against his even faster in an attempt to get him to come with me.

It seemed to work as Braun thrust even harder into me, his free hand falling to my clit. He rubbed harsh circles against me, in time with his thrusts, and we came together, our hips rolling hopelessly against each other’s. Braun pressed one last kiss to my shoulder before standing up, crossing the bedroom to the bathroom to dispose of the condom.

By the time he came back, I was under the covers on my side of the bed, leaving room for him next to me. He smiled again before walking towards me, climbing into bed behind me. I fell asleep wrapped in his arms, a soft smile on my own face. Something about him was different. And I loved it.

======================

The next day, I woke with a groan as the sunlight streamed in through the window. I reached out for the extra pillow, throwing it over my face to stave off the sunlight. It wasn’t until a moment later that I realized I didn’t have to wrestle it out from under another person’s head.

At that, I sat up, head turning to my side. There, where I knew I fell asleep with someone by my side, was just an empty half of the bed. My eyes fell to the floor, and I noticed all his clothes were gone, but the chapbooks remained sprawled out in disarray, there near the door.

Maybe there was nothing too different about him, after all. Maybe all we needed was someone to keep the loneliness at bay, at least for a night. Something about that seemed comforting to me, in a way.

A month later, at the next open mic night, I was there. I had something new in the works, but nothing close to being ready to be performed; at least not yet. As I walked to my usual table in the corner, I noticed him. Braun, sitting at the bar, eyes scanning the crowd. And just like last time, I felt some sort of connection with him, something that drew me in.


End file.
